It overtakes your shoulders, pulls you into the center like a twinkle-spin-out-disappearing blackhole. Alone, walking on the beach. Unable to love, unable to stand life. Start out young; the heart is what really ages, as it grows stiff–cynical, beaten, unwilling to shake off the scar tissue and try again–it turns the rest of you to dust, like a plant on dried out ground.
Or is that just pouty talk?